Removed
by shadowhisper
Summary: Azkadellia has arrived in Finaqua to lock away her mother and remove Ambrose's brain. But it doesn't just cut off there. Just a one-shot. No romance, so go and get it somewhere else, your fluff-loving people.


Dream

4/22-23

Ambrose's calculating brown eyes shifted just left of the queen's beautiful profile, a shock of horror passing across his thin face. Rising to meet the princess Azkadellia and her troupe of guards, he wanted nothing more than to protect the queen from the threat. "Show some respect." He ordered, the tails of his brown uniform flicking in the wind as he put an arm protectively between the queen and her darkly possessed daughter.

"The queen's reign ends today." Azkadellia said matter-of-factly with the childish nature of a spoiled teenager. Ambrose opened his mouth to dismiss her words when he felt a tender touch on his arm. He turned to see the radiant queen standing beside him, his cold wrist in her soft, warm hand.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" the queen challenged with the latent, cold voice that demanded authority. She was barely a foot from her daughter's face, their sharp, delicate profiles mirroring traits they both shared. Ambrose's eyes flicked to Azkadellia, then loyally back to the queen, wanting nothing more than to throw himself between the two if Azkadellia should try to hurt her.

"I do." The princess smiled with all the sweetness of a crocodile. "You need a long rest mother. Take her away."

Azkadellia's Longcoats swarmed on the silver-haired queen before he could do anything--risk everything to stop them.

"And take him to the Alchemist," she continued as Ambrose tried to concoct a plan. Two men grabbed each of his arms forcefully. Trying to shake them off vainly, he turned to meet the princess' dark eyes. Mischief filled the black retinas and fear welled up in his. "If you won't tell me what you know, I'll simply have to reach in and take it myself."

He looked for a moment longer, dumbstruck, into her evilly twisted face, and for the first time in his life, he could think of nothing to say. With a lurch, his two captors walked him across the bright green grounds and towards an ominous black truck emitting a horrible charcoal exhaust. The queen was nowhere to be found. He looked over his shoulder only to see the possessed princess sneering after his retreating form.

The two men holding him jerked him, hard, causing him to nearly fall and snap his head forward once more. Struggling his suddenly weak legs to move, he stumbled between the two Longcoats while they dragged him to the truck with pincer-like strength on his upper arms. This couldn't be how it would end. Evil was supposed to always succumb to good; at least, that's how it always had been in the massive amounts of fairytales he had read when he was young. He had to do something, fight back, anything.

He dug his feet into the grass and tried to halt the inevitable and horrid threat that awaited him in the truck, and wherever the truck would take him. One of the men growled and yanked him forward to the point where he half-fell to the ground. His left knee hit painfully to the earth before they lifted him with bone-crushing force to his feet again as they continued toward the truck. He tried jerking his arms out of their grasp, and managed to elbow one of the Longcoats in the ribs. The Longcoat whipped his head around to glare at him and slammed his powerful fist into Ambrose's face.

"Try that again and see what happens." The man threatened, shaking him. Ambrose felt the color drain from his face as blood fell from his nose and down his chin. Struggling to keep his eyes open and ward off lightheadedness, he felt his foot catch on a rock that set him tripping and leaning forward.

"Smartest man in the O.Z. my ass. The guy can't even walk in a straight line without tripping over himself." One of his captors scoffed.

"Just get him to the truck, then he's not our problem." The other man said gruffly. Ambrose looked up to see the truck only a few yards away and felt a wave of panic. What would they do to him? Interrogate him until he was too weak to move from torture? Let them. The safety of the O.Z. rested within his mind, and no one could get to that information but himself. Let them try to get him to talk. He'd never give in. For the queen, for the O.Z., for little DG, wherever she was now. He would rather die than tell these men anything.

One of the men slapped iron shackles on his wrists as they had stopped walking and now stood in back of the truck. The other Longcoat unlocked the barred door to the mobile prison in the truck and prepared to shove him in.

"I will _never_ tell you anything." Ambrose swore coldly.

The man who shackled him let out a ferocious laugh. "You think that matters to the Alchemist? Believe me, you'll get your chance to talk, alright; you see, the Alchemist like to play with his food before devouring it." The man leaned closer to his face, stinking of gun powder and cigarettes. Ambrose wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You'll be reduced to nothing when he's done with you."

With that, the two men shoved him into the back of the truck, laughing menacingly, and slammed the door shut behind him, shrouding most of his new found prison in darkness. He landed on his face, which was predictable. He was a fantastic dancer when the time called for it, possessing excellent rhythm and balance, but under the circumstances, both traits had left him.

Stop it. Now was not the time to reflect on ballroom skills. He was in grave danger, as was the queen, wherever they had taken her.

He sat up and gingerly felt his nose where the unfortunate-looking Longcoat had struck him. Not broken, but he could feel a nasty bruise on its way. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he dabbed at the blood that was in rivulets down his mouth and chin until he was satisfied it was off.

The truck lurched forward, causing him to tumble backwards and lose the kerchief as it flew from his hand and out through the bars of the truck. Sorrowfully watching it as it faded away, he felt his stomach knot unpleasantly. Would he ever see Finaqua again? The Queen? His brain knew the answer, but his heart ached to counter it and scream everything would be alright.


End file.
